


Do you know what gets left behind?

by TheSerpentOfSilverPlumes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:32:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2232498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSerpentOfSilverPlumes/pseuds/TheSerpentOfSilverPlumes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris had a way of dealing with problems. It usually entailed sticking a bullet in their heads. </p><p>Things have become more complicated since Scott McCall started calling the shots, and his goal to save everyone isn't saving Chris any headaches.</p><p>It's admirable, but Chris can't help but think that some people can't be saved.</p><p>That maybe Peter Hale didn't deserve to be saved.</p><p>He wasn't sure if he wanted to be proven wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Our poetry would be written in blood

**Author's Note:**

> Probably English(UK) spellings in places. My bad.

Peter and Chris, or what was to become Peter and Chris, began predictably in a litany of claws and bullets. What had been unpredictable was how Chris found himself back to back with the wolf instead of toe to toe.

Chris had after all set out with the intention of putting one of his bullets between the man’s eyes.

He chalked it down to instinct. The bullets flying at Peter weren't discriminating after all and a searing pain in his arm warned him that he would sooner go down than the wolf, which wasn't conductive to his goals anyway.

“Pass out Argent and I’ll be using you as a shield.”

It occurred to Chris that, with the way his limbs were slumping, he would probably make a serviceable shield with or without consciousness. Now was the time to hold his tongue though.

Chris had no idea who these people were, or why they were after Peter. It wouldn't shock him to learn of more tails that had been trodden on in Peter’s search for power, but an enemy unknown was an enemy more dangerous.

“Does it matter who they are? Their guns are pointed at our heads; I think that’s enough to be getting on with.”

Chris frowned. He hadn't remembered speaking aloud, but just as he was going to ask a fresh round of bullets rung out in the air and suddenly he was being pulled back behind the cover. His head struck on the side of the upturned table on the way down, but the tang of blood was infinitely more desirable to a lost head.

His ‘thank you’ remained unsaid, however. Chris didn't appreciate the irony of having his life saved by a man whose life he intended on taking.

As it was, Peter’s actions a moment later eviscerated any guilt Chris might have been feeling. The patrol of what Chris had to assume were hunters had let up on the spraying of bullets, and had begun to steadily spread their way across the room and towards where Chris and Peter were crouching.

Chris was in the midst of devising a plan, one that threw Peter into harm’s way and created enough of an opening for him to slip out undetected, when the same thought must have occurred to Peter.

A firm kick to his side sent Chris sprawling out of the cover and into the clearing. The breath was momentarily forced out of him, and the sharp pain of what was undoubtedly a broken rib was making it difficult to heave in more air.

For all the posturing, the unknown hunters looked entirely unprepared for what to do when they got their target. The toe of a boot connected needlessly with Chris’ face, and the fresh bloom of pain and blood that spread out across Chris’ face obscured the sight of Peter’s form scurrying soundlessly from the room.

“Huh,” It was a female’s voice “He’s blonde.”

An inquisitive gun nuzzle forced Chris to turn his face towards the group, though it didn't do him much good as he couldn't very well see through the black splotches that might have been blood.

“So?” A gruffer voice said accompanied by another heavy kick, this time to his side.

Chris wheezed involuntarily.

“I-nothing. I thought he had darker hair that’s all.” The gun forced his head back the other way “Maybe younger.”

The cold metal pressed to his throat was doing wonders to help Chris focus through the pain and, though it was hard to even draw in the air necessary, Chris managed to hack out an “Argent,” before anything more was said.

A brief pause met his words. “Not quite, wolf.”

It was unwise to shake his head, the person holding the gun tensed and all Chris managed to do was drive his head into the floorboards a few times more than necessary. “No, no I'm an Argent. Chris. Chris Argent.”

The floorboards creaked around him and, though someone was still pressing a gun into his neck, the rest of them had obviously moved some way’s back to confer. Chris took that as a sign in his favour. If they were still resolute that he was a wolf, they wouldn't have bothered trying to hide their conversation.

“Just-let’s take him to Cindy.” That was the girl’s voice again, sounding slightly different without the triumphant edge.

Two arms burrowed their way beneath Chris armpits, and through his disorientation, Chris realised he was being pulled to his feet. Between the two holding him, and the slight direction from the girl, Chris found himself being manoeuvred out of the room he and Peter had holed up in and out into the corridor.

Being forced upright was productive in clearing his head, and by the time he was pushed up against a wall in the corridor, Chris had a few escape plans devised should he need them.

“Why are you here, Argent?” The name was spoken with a hint of distrust which Chris didn't blame them for.

At that moment it would have been easy to tell them that he had been hunting a wolf too. They were on the same team and, as Peter had just recently reminded him, he and Chris were not. He didn't want to though. Maybe it was the boot he had taken to the head that was confusing his loyalties, but Chris had no desire to align himself with these people. He’d get out, and then he’d get Peter.

“Are we sure he’s even an Argent?” That was the girl again, and now Chris turned to look at her he realised that she couldn't have been much older than 25. No wonder she thought Chris was old.

“There is a Chris Argent. Gerard’s son.” One of the guys who’d hoisted Chris out of the room spoke up.

“Shit. Well then we’re fucked aren't we.” Chris was sure that was intended as an undertone, meant only for herself, but the distress in her voice was pitching it louder.

There was a dull click that Chris didn't register until he was staring down the barrel of another gun. He couldn't help the unimpressed stare. He was making too much of a habit out of this.

“What are you doing?” Several voices clamoured similar sentiments, but all fell out of the way of the gun until it was just Chris in harm’s way.

“If Gerard finds out we fucked up one of his kids, he’ll be all on us, right?” Chris wondered if it would be worth informing them of Gerard’s incapacitation. He’d been avoiding it, naively because he thought the overcast of Gerard’s name would keep Chris and the residents of Beacon hills safe. Now it was to be his undoing. “Nah. Best that we leave him here, bury him someplace six feet down, and say that the wolf mauled him. No body remaining. Nada.”

The gun pointed at his face was trembling slightly. Chris wondered if this was her first hunt.

He was about to speak up, swear himself into silence for all the good it would do, when a figure came barrelling down the hall behind her. Chris rolled himself to one side as the girl was forced into the wall, a sickening crack echoing all through the building before she fell limp to the floor.  
All around them the hunters were scattering, Peter’s howl chasing them as they went.

The position Chris had ended up in left him knelt down beside the girl. Numbed a little by shock, both at Peter’s return and the way he did it, Chris said stupidly “She was young.”

“Young and with a gun. A lethal combination, if you’ll recall.” Before Chris could give rise to any kind of anger, Peter was rolling his eyes. “She’s not dead. I can hear her little hunters heart beating-” he paused as if he was about to say more, half turned ears twitching almost comically in the air. “There’s more of them.”

He didn't wait for permission before grasping Chris’s collar and displacing him a few metres for the second time that night.

The door was being clicked shut behind him and Peter was jamming it closed with whatever was to hand before Chris even had time to centre himself. A quick scan of his surroundings told Chris that they were stood in some kind of freezer room. If it wasn't already obvious, the finger Chris held up in the air assured him that this room was just as disused as the rest of the building. There was nothing different about the air in here. That comforting thought was quickly scared away by another. The door Peter had just barred was the only way in or out, and Peter was quirking an eyebrow as if he’d already evaluated that fact.

Chris took a step back, hand falling to his thigh to find his gun. The very gun that Peter was dangling between them with a look of vague amusement on his face.

“Only brought one? Confident of you.”

Chris took another step back, hands curling into fists at his side. The odds weren't stacked in his favour. If it came down to it, Peter could snap his neck before Chris even landed one good punch. Close range was never Chris’s preferred style. He was better at the tactics; at the traps and the clean one shot kills. Now he didn't even have any weapon to protect himself. It would've been too much to except Peter to give him back his gun, to give him a fair fight.

“I don’t plan on killing you,” Peter cocked an eyebrow at him and shoved the gun (unsafely) into a jean pocket. “Though by rights, I should. I know why you’re here, and I don’t suspect for one second that you’d come to warn me about them.” He nudged a head vaguely at the room around them. Maybe he was nodding at where the sounds were coming from, but Chris couldn't tell with his human ears.

“You do?” Chris had no doubt that he did. Chris had approached him earlier with a raised gun, just before they were assaulted by the third party, and so he hadn't exactly been subtle with his intentions. But he needed time. Peter had a penchant for drawn out speeches. His dramatics were his greatest weakness. Chris had the privilege of knowing that, and if he could only exploit it, he may walk away still breathing.

“You plan on killing me.” It was spoken with such an out of place look of hurt that Chris couldn't help but huff out a laugh.

“You plan on killing Scott.”

“It brought more trouble than it’s worth,” Peter shook his head regretfully, theatrically “that was my bad. I guess we’re one for one on bad choices, you and me.” He produced the gun again and levelled it at Chris. He probably appreciated the irony, though Chris wasn't sure he knew how to shoot a gun let alone guarantee a kill shot. If he tried it, Chris would probably be in for a drawn out death. Something of that must have shown on his face because then Peter was laughing, “I'm not going to kill you.”

Chris hesitated and then took another step back. He was distrusting of most things Peter said.

“I just want you to know that I could.” Peter let the gun drop to the floor at his side. “I’ll need you armed if we’re getting out of this alive." And then he was pulling aside the crude barricade he’d erected.

Chris waited until his back was fully turned before he scrambled forwards to his gun. He couldn't see his face, but Peter’s shoulders shook with repressed laughter. Chris holstered the gun and, magnanimously, decided not to put a bullet hole in the back of his head for now. Chris probably needed Peter’s claws as much as Peter needed his guns.

Though, as it turned out, Chris’ guns weren't required much and he began to wonder if he wasn't being brought along to make good of that shield comment from earlier. Peter cleared the way through the building, making use of his superior hearing to field out the incompetent hunters before they could get the jump on them. Chris wasn't checking for pulses in the casualties they left, but the furtive looks Peter kept sending his way made him wonder if they weren't being left alive for his sake.

“That wasn't all of them.” Peter told him when they pushed out into the crisp night air. They’d found one of many exits in the maze of disused warehouses, and the buildings clustered around them could have been shielding a whole army of hunters for all Chris knew. “They’ll see the bodies, and they won’t hesitate to shoot you.”

He gave that as a final warning, and then turned on his back to leave Chris to his own devices.

Chris gun puttered uselessly as he pulled on the trigger. “You took the bullets.” Chris said blandly.

Peter span back to face him and tilted his head condescendingly as he eyes the gun pointed at his head “I knew you’d shoot me. You’re getting predictable in your old age, Argent.”

“None of us are getting any younger.”

“No we are not, so if you’ll excuse me,” Peter made an abortive move to turn back around but, at the last moment, added “and it was never about Scott. He has something I need, but I can get it elsewhere. I have a job to do, Argent, maybe when I’m done I’ll give you your fair fight.”

And then he really was walking away. Chris toed the knife handle he had tucked into one boot with his other foot, and estimated the likely hood of him getting the blade wedged in the wolfs neck before he cottoned on. But he let the moment pass and Peter was long out of range when Chris called after him “I'm not letting you walk Hale, I'm just giving you a head start.”

Peter had some sins stacking up in his closest that he needed to repent for, but Chris had some wounds that needed tending to and, as the blood cascading down his side reminded him, some problems were more pressing than others.


	2. Which side of the line looks best?

It took close to half a month before the bruises littering Chris’ side began to fade, and a further month before the angry red scars settled into mulish pink ledges. There was still a feint ache in his side when he stretched it too much, but no ribs were broken and the bullet had only skimmed across his forearm. The wounds had been superficial at worst. 

He hadn't yet told Scott, or anyone who constituted as ‘pack’ these days, how he’d gotten his injuries.

Between being almost taken out by a group of amateur hunters and being rescued by Peter Hale, it wasn't a tale Chris would have much pleasure recounting.

He also wasn't sure if they’d understand why he let Peter walk, especially because they hadn't heard so much a whisper on the wind from him since.

Far from being reassured by Peter’s absence, everyone was slowly talking themselves into circles over what he could be planning. Or, at least, Derek was.

He was taking some sort of personal responsibility for Peter and his actions. A sense of responsibility likely owed to the guilt he felt at having let Peter wander freely for so long when they’d all known it would come back to this.

It was far from Derek’s fault, but it was still hard not to blame him.

It was a selfish deflection really. Peter was Chris' responsibility. The Argent's were supposed to do clean up, account for lost numbers; it had always been their job. Chris had been slowly losing sight of that, as his actions at the warehouse demonstrated.

It was too easy to lose sight of his responsibilities; too often these days he let himself wallow in what he had lost. It was too easy to seek out a bottle of whiskey to numb his mind and blur out the memories that lurked in the recesses of his mind. He wondered, sometimes, if he would be capable of letting go. On good days, letting go just meant leaving Beacon Hills. Maybe setting up shop somewhere he’d never been before, somewhere Allison had never laughed and Victoria had never loved. On other days, his thoughts took him elsewhere.

It was the picture of Victoria propped up on his bedside table that kept him tethered to the wheel that had been turning since he was a kid. It was one he’d taken of her on their honeymoon. She’d only just cut her hair short for the first time and she was still getting used to it, with one hand constantly brushing along the nape of her neck just to check she had really cut it. She’d done it with so little hesitation, so much confidence, that Chris had been left oddly breathless with wonder for the woman he’d married. He’d taken the picture to commemorate the feeling.

Victoria had always rolled her eyes whenever she saw it. The picture had been taken without warning, and maybe there were others where she looked more beautiful, but none where she looked more powerful.

Some nights he just needed to stare at the picture for a little while, just until he could be strong enough for himself.

He almost knocked it to the floor when his phone buzzed in his pocket. Cheeks flushing at the thought of being taken by surprise, Chris fumbled with his phone until he had it pressed up against his ear.

It was Derek's voice on the other side, his words brief as always.

“He’s in the preserve.”

 

* * *

  
Chris knew why he’d been asked along. For all the danger the kids had faced over the past year, for all the danger Derek had been facing for years, none of them had really reconciled themselves with what they’d been forced to become; killers. Because they had killed before, but it’s easier to excuse yourself when something is done in the heat of a battle; that ‘do or die’ moment that makes it so easy to forgive. This time, it was more akin to an execution. They weren't waiting for Peter to come to them.

That’s why Chris had to be there; to pull the trigger if, and likely when, they couldn't.

Chris had been left with Derek. His senses were still the most attuned and so he was likely to find Peter first and, being his nephew, Derek would be able to buy the most time. Depending, of course, on how much Peter cared about that fact.

Scott had gone with a bigger entourage, courtesy of being the most at threat. He hadn't complained much at Derek’s insistence. Scott liked to surround himself with allies; it was comforting to him in a way that Derek would probably never get to appreciate again.

It was an uncomfortably familiar situation being led by a Hale, but as any attempt Chris could have made to track Peter would have taken twice as long and would have been half as useful, he fell in line behind the wolf.

The instructions given to Chris had been pretty clear; first shot, any shot, you take it. What hadn't been made clear was why Peter was in the preserve at all. From what Chris could tell, stalking in the woods at the dead of night gave no obvious advantage. In fact the only obvious target, the Nemeton, was far on the other side of the woods. There was nothing this way, save for abandoned sheds and the kind of trees you’d normally expect from the woods: the ones without any magical properties.

Just as the sound of Derek taking steady breaths through his nose in the otherwise silent night air was beginning to grate on Chris’ nerves, Derek stumbled to an abrupt halt.

Any sounds of inquiry Chris may have wanted to make were stemmed by the hand Derek threw up in his direction. Chris couldn't help but glare at the gesture, a natural response to being told what to do by a boy half his age, but the way Derek was staring intently at the cluster of trees in front of them told Chris that now wasn't the time for misplaced pride.

Derek suddenly jerked his head towards Chris, eyes widened with confusion and alarm, which was the only warning Chris got before the sound of a bullet piercing through the air reached his ears. It took Derek by the shoulder, lashed Chris’s face with a spray of blood, and forced Derek backwards and into the foliage out of sight.

An instance of silence passed before a cacophony of gun shots rang out, and, survival instinct over ruling the desire to make sure Derek was okay, Chris threw himself in the direction of the trees opposite where Derek had fallen.

Crouched down behind the protection of a large oak, Chris wiped sweated fingers down the thighs of his jeans and withdrew the gun he’d had tucked into his holster. It was loaded with Wolfsbane laced bullets, but Chris got the impression that it wasn't wolves they were dealing with.

The gun sounds weren't letting up but they were getting closer, like the shooters were making their way towards where Chris and Derek had been stood moments before. Though Chris had no-way of knowing what Derek was doing, if he’d been able to scamper off into the woods out of harm’s way or if he was lying in a bloody pile just beyond the tree line, he had no intention of letting him die. In a badly considered move, Chris shot a single bullet out from his cover towards the noises and, without waiting to see if he made contact, took off at a run.

Purposefully trampling over the noisiest terrains, Chris didn't restrain his heavy breathing and tried to disturb as much of his surroundings as possible. Tree branches snapped viciously at his face, and Chris let his grunts of genuine pain ring out. Only when he was confident that he could hear them following him did he let up.

He wasn't entirely sure what he’d intended to do once he had them at his back. He thought vaguely about circling round and leading them to Scott and the others but by now he had no idea of where they could be, or if they had other problems to be dealing with.

His only real chance was to lose them in the woods if he could, and if not, at least try to get a good shot in or two. The strain on his side that was returning with a vengeance reminded him that he had no hope of outrunning them. It was just fortunate that he’d been patrolling these woods longer than he cared to remember and he knew its veins better than the ones on the backs of his hands.

Though the speed he was moving had turned his surrounding into indistinguishable blurs, he could hear the sound of running water over his laboured breathing. He was following the river that cut down the middle of the preserve. That meant he had a plan. Or twenty percent of one.  
Swerving off when he saw the fork in the river, Chris found himself stood in amongst a group of rotting shacks that the Hale’s probably made good use of in their time. The ruckus following him up from the river spurred him into action, cutting through the slightly morose feeling he got staring at the relics of the family that once reigned over this area. Sliding in through the panel-less window of the shack stood furthest away from the river, Chris tucked himself into the only corner not illuminated by the sunlight streaming into the room.

A wheezing voice from outside announced the arrival of his pursuers. “He didn't fucking come this way.”

A second voice retorted, and Chris knew he should have been listening but the pain rippling through his side that he’d been ignoring up until now was making its presence known. It felt like a crippling stitch, and the hand Chris was clutching his side with was not doing much to alleviate it.

The sides of the shack shook under the force of someone colliding with it from outside, and Chris tensed in anticipation but no-one ducked in through the window to take a look. No doubt they’d get round to that.

“The little bitch is probably hiding in one of these.” The sound of metal against wood echoed around the little room as the butt of a gun was rammed against its side.

The thought that he was likely to be killed regardless of his actions was beneficial for his concentration. With remarkably steady hands he rested the barrel of his gun against a nook at the corner of the window, his eyes keenly looking for any sight of movement beyond.

The sound of his own heart thumping in his ears was fading to a mellow background noise when it was drowned out completely by a growl that made the very floor tremble.

Despite himself Chris’ grip on his gun slackened in his confusion, but he still had enough wits about him to resist the temptation to crane his neck out the window to see what was happening, even as shrieks began to colour the night.

It seemed like an age before the cries died down, the sound of gun shots dropping off in tandem with the voices, but Chris’ heart was still jack hammering in his chest. A body was flung unceremoniously threw the window and Chris threw himself back up against the wall, wide eyes watching as a shape clambered in after it.

Peter was looking more feral than Chris had ever seen. He normally limited himself to claws and fangs, but now his jaw was lined in fur and his ears had elongated wolfishly to match. He was moving on all fours too, in complete disregard for his designer jeans that were now torn at the knees and coated in what Chris presumed to be other people’s blood. He was snuffling along the ground like he was in search of something, and Chris thought it was the body he’d just tossed until Peter twisted his head to look up at him.

Suddenly changing his course, Peter clambered across the shack until he was pressed against Chris; his nose burying itself at the base of his stomach until he trailed it up across Chris’ chest. His stomach rolled at the sensation.

It was only when Peter had his face pressed up against his cheek that Chris realised what it was he was smelling.

“Derek?” He growled, voice lisping through his prominent teeth.

“Not here.” Chris panted back, wanting nothing more than to shove Peter away but not knowing if he could. “He was with me earlier. He got shot.”

“Where is he?” Peter growled again, his voice dipping dangerously low until his voice was rumbling at a timbre that made the floor shake again.

“Left him-” Was all Chris managed to choke out before clawed hands were pulling at his collar and forcing him up the side of the wall.

The pain in his side was dwarfed by the burning in his throat and, as Chris felt a sharp claw trail at along his Adams apple, Chris suddenly realised that Peter was going to kill him. A fresh determination that outweighed any pain he was feeling allowed him to contort his body in a way his side disagreed with. His feet were stretching down further even as Peter forced him upwards, and he just knew that if he could lock the gun between his feet, he could flick it up into his hand that was waiting for it limply at his side.

He could hear the gun faintly scrape along the floor beneath his foot and he closed his eyes as he realised his mistake. Peter’s chuckle was devoid of any amusement. Chris felt himself get hoisted impossibly higher, his collar now cutting off his airways even without the pressure from Peter’s hand, and Chris had no choice but to wrap his hands around Peter’s forearms in the hopes of wrestling him off.

“You’d better hope he’s still alive, or I'm coming back for you Christopher.”

Suddenly Chris could feel himself being lurched forward and then back again against the wall with impossible speed. His head cracked loudly against the wall and he was allowed to drop to the floor at Peter’s feet.

As his vision began to black out, Chris could just hear the faint whisper of something flying through the air. As he lost grip on the room around him, he saw Peter tumble to the floor and together they fell away from consciousness.


	3. Lets break the pattern, reinvent the wheel, I have an idea for one with eight sides.

Melissa was hovering at his bedside when he woke up.

He could hear the bustling of a hospital around him; the beeping of a life support machine from a room over, the low hushed tones of nurses gathered outside his room, and the disapproving clicking of Melissa McCall’s tongue.

The lights were harsh on his eyes, and the ache in his head needed no provocation, so he let himself lie there for a little longer with his eyelids jammed shut.

“You need to take better care of yourself.”

Chris didn’t hold back the irritated huff as he finally pushed himself up and off the bed. He noted with some relief that he wasn’t attached anywhere, and was dressed in the same clothes he had been on the hunt. Sans jacket that was probably ruined if the reddish stains on his shirt was anything to go by.

“You were covered in blood when Stiles brought you in.” There was something judgemental in her tone and Chris, though the source of his frustration was far from this room, couldn’t help but let some of that frustration show on his face. “I’ve seen too much to be intimidated by a man struggling to stand, Chris Argent.” And then, as if the word ‘Argent’ had reminded her who she was talking to, her expression softened. “That’s twice you’ve been in here in less than two months; you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

She stretched out a hand towards him and, thinking she might intend to put in on his shoulder, Chris jolted back out of the way.

“What I choose to do with myself is my business.” He meant to sound intimidating, but it was true that his legs were trembling beneath him and he wagers that the effect was probably lost.

“There are still people who are relying on you Chris.”

He didn’t say another word, didn’t trust his voice not to break in anger, and so he stalked out of the room on unsteady legs in search of Stiles who he’d just seen turn away at the entrance to his room.

* * *

 

Stiles was pacing back and forth in the reception area before Chris caught up to him. He was furiously jabbing at his phone with one hand whilst his other roamed freely around his face and hair, pulling and scratching intermittently.

“Stiles.”

Stiles span around with such speed he almost threw his phone straight at Chris’ face. Cradling the device to his chest, he regarded Chris with a scrunched up expression. “How are you standing right now? Like, two seconds ago I was covered in so much of your blood I thought I was dying. Kinda think I might have. I don’t like the afterlife, Scott’s insane here.” He was frowning back down at his phone again.

“Stiles,”

He looked up, eyebrow raised as if he was surprised to see Chris was still there. Then his expression cleared and Chris found himself with a cell phone being waved, a little threateningly, at his face. “You can help.”

“Stiles, what happened?”

Stiles clapped his hands together triumphantly “That’s what you can help with. I was supposed to come fetch you anyway, Scott wants to see you.”

“And where is he?”

“Deaton’s. He has your gun too, by the way. Didn’t want to scare any nurses, I guess. They’ve seen worse than a firearm in the past couple months though, so I don’t really see why he bothered. Unless he was trying to lure you there, which seems weird. Why wouldn’t you just go? You were just about to anyway, even before you knew he had your gun.”

“And Peter?”

Stiles rolled his eyes skyward. “Alive.”

* * *

 

There was a group of them clustered by the counter in Deaton’s front room; whoever had become ‘pack’ when Chris was busy blinking.

Chris could tell from the resolute expression on Scott’s face that whatever he was about to be told was going to cause him a whole lot of problems.  For their part, the pack looked mostly yielding. Only Breaden, who looked like she really couldn’t care less, and Lydia, who looked like she cared a whole lot, were the exceptions.

“Thank god,” Lydia said when Chris brushed past her to get to Scott’s side.

“Scott?” Chris asked, accepting his gun absently from Breaden. He’d inspect it, double check it, and replace it later. He didn’t know enough about Breaden to trust her yet.

Scott broke off the silent conversation he’d been having with Derek to face Chris, his lips pulling down into a quirked line that said he knew Chris was going to be unhappy. “There’s been a change of plan.”

“There’s been a complete genocide of brain cells.” Stiles, who’d driven Chris there, muttered under his breath. Lydia huffed in agreement.

Shooting his friend a sharp look, Scott said “I think this is something you and I need to talk about in private. And Derek,” He added hastily, shooting a confirming look over at the older wolf who nodded in approval.

Chris followed behind warily, trying to ignore the hands being thrown up behind him courtesy of Stiles and the more subtle, but no less frustrated, lip pursing from Lydia.

* * *

 

“-You don’t want to kill him, at all?” Chris was struggling to keep up with Scott’s line of thought. His fingers were agitatedly straying up and down the barrel of the gun and, if the way Derek kept fidgeting uncomfortably, it hadn’t gone unnoticed. “And you’re okay with that?” The question was aimed at both Derek and Scott. Scott may have been Peter’s target, but his presence had tormented Derek far more.

It was Scott who answered first. Derek’s face was pulling into a frown as if he wasn’t yet sure on his answer. “It’s-I was talking to Meredith About the deadpool, remember? She was all inside Peter’s head and...” He fell into silence, teeth chewing at his lower lip. Chris let him have the time.

“Peter wasn’t this, before.” Derek said suddenly, leaning back in his chair. “He was never, you know-” He waved vaguely at Scott who visibly straightened under the implied compliment “but he was never, _this_.”

“Meredith told me what he was thinking, during those weeks. He’s completely insane, and I don’t think we should forgive him for what he’s done, not in the slightest, but it would be so unjust.”

Chris couldn’t help the way his eyebrows lifted.

“It would be,” Scott said vehemently. “it was Kate who- I’m sorry but it was Kate. She did this to him and, well,” Scott nodded his head at Derek who had his head ducked down slightly “can you imagine being burnt with your family like that? Derek went through some awful, _awful_ , things but Peter was _there_. He’s done horrible things, but we can’t kill him like that didn’t mean anything, like the fire doesn’t change anything. I don’t want to kill anyone anyway.” The last part was spoken with such fierce confidence that Chris could imagine his eyes flaring Alpha red.

Chris let the words hang in the air between them, leaning back against the table his chair was propped up against as his eyes wandered between the two wolfs.

“And if I disagree?”

“I don’t think you can.” Derek said, shrugging a little apologetically. “The agreement we have- Scott is Alpha. He deals with the wolf issues. That’s what we agreed; you wouldn’t act without Scott’s backing.”

“And if I did act? Would you kill me?”

Scott paused and then, eventually, shook his head. “We’d let you kill him. We wouldn’t stop you, or let it break the agreement. Peter’s done bad things, to everyone. Lydia-” He broke off with a pained look “We wouldn’t stop anyone. I’d just rather you didn’t.”

Chris let out a heavy breath of air.

“Where is he?”

“Deaton has him trapped behind mountain ash. He’s with him now, keeping an eye on him. He hasn’t done anything,” he hastened to add at Chris’ pointed look, but then continued with a low sigh “Well, except bait Lydia. She’s already hit him over the head with a chair once.”

“We can’t just let him walk free.” Not again. The throbbing in his head reminded him that it would only end badly.

“No,” Scott rubbed the back of his head, noticeably sheepish “that’s the other thing we need to talk about-”

* * *

 

The basement of Chris’ house was a serviceable dungeon, as had been demonstrated in the past. It didn’t make Chris feel any less weird as he stood testing the structures for durability. The metal he was tugging in his hands whined but didn’t break, and Chris tried not to think about how the red staining it halfway down either belonged to Derek or any one of the wolf teens that had been strung up by his relatives.

He then turned to inspecting the bags of wolfsbane that he’d been stockpiling, running it through his fingers to check the consistency, but he knew that he was just occupying his mind; trying to think of anything but what he’d just agreed to.

He knew why his house had been chosen; could see what was unspoken in the way Scott stared at his ear and not his eyes. Peter was safest here, because there was nothing here he could damage. Nothing he could do to Chris would be worse than what Chris sought out by himself these days. There was nothing precious within these walls. Just ghosts and wolfsbane.

He was staring blankly at the wall where the manacles had been secured when Scott found him. He came to stand next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and Chris had forgotten that Scott was his height. Barely a child now, and making better decisions than Chris thinks he ever made.

Scott looked like he was fishing for something to say, but he stopped abruptly to stare a little in shock at the chains attached to the wall.

Chris couldn’t help but quirk a smile at his expression.  “Just for full moons. Or if Peter get’s too-” he waved a hand around vaguely “Peter.”

“I hope you can make him less-Peter.” Scott admitted, shooting an uncomfortable look around at the surroundings as if imagining a life led confined in there.

Chris decided not to confide his doubts, but Scott’s deflated look said it all anyway.

The thought that they were trying to achieve something, even the impossible, made the idea of imprisoning someone a little more palatable.  

“I’m sorry I brought you into this. But thank you,”

“Allison brought me into this,” Chris corrected, smiling a little too broadly just to reassure Scott.

“Stiles thinks I’m being too-” He broke off, the word he was looking for unfound.

“A little too you?” Chris suggested “Scott, being you is why you’re Alpha.”

Scott cheeks reddened a little. “I just- I told you I wanted to save everyone. I told you I was going to save everyone. I don’t think that means getting to choose who I think deserves it. Saving everyone means saving anyone who I can. I hope I can. Derek-”

Derek deserves a family. Derek deserves someone who will stick around and not leave him. Derek deserves someone he won’t have to visit in a makeshift prison.

“Derek deserves a lot more than he got.” Chris finished.

“So do a lot of people.” Chris thinks Scott might have shot him a look, but the lighting was too dim to tell and Chris wasn’t really looking.

The bell to the house rang out and Chris winced a little.

Deaton was stood out the front door with his body contorted unnoticeably to make Peter appear more casual, despite the chains Chris knew to be binding his wrists.

Peter was eyeing the house past Chris imperiously when he caught his gaze. He smiled once, tilted his head to one side, and made the metal on his wrists jingle “You know Christopher, there are clubs for people with these sorts of...tastes. Far be it for me to complain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medical inaccuracies like woah.  
> I'm fairly certain that you a) can't lose a lot of blood and walk out of there like 'whatever' and b) lose conciousness for that long and not merit more than a once over. But some of us dropped biology after GCSE level. I'm not about that medical life.
> 
> Also, I said 4 chapters, but that's a guestimate. I have a vague idea that I'm following, so it might be. *shrugs*
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING ^__^


	4. One step before two. It's always the way.

“This is barbaric.”

Chris didn’t disagree. It was easy to rationalise the setup when all Chris could picture was the man-wolf slamming him back against a shack wall. But now, with a petulant Peter huffing at him from one side of the room as he stood at the other, Chris was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

“I wonder what would happen if I started yelling.”

“Down here? Not much.” Chris didn’t think it needed pointing out that the Sherriff, the man who would likely be called to his aid, was all for putting Peter down.

Peter didn’t even seem surprised, “Of course not. It wouldn’t make a very good torture chamber if you had the neighbours sticking their head round the door every other minute, now would it.” Peter was eyeing some of the electrical devices with a look that was more disdainful than fearful “Is that why I’m here, Argent?”

“You could hear Scott,”

Peter nodded slowly. “And I heard what you agreed to. That doesn’t answer my question.” He was slowly testing the boundaries of the wolfsbane, acting as if he was looking for a break in the line even though he and Chris both knew it had been done perfectly. It was more likely that he was trying to unsettle Chris. “It must be tempting.” He spread his arms like an invitation, his head tilted in a familiar challenge, and his lips set in an amused smirk.

And it was tempting.

His fingers had been flexing unconsciously at his side since he’d entered the basement, something about Peter’s casual manner and snide remarks inflaming a need to relieve some of the tension that had been steadily coiling in Chris’ chest for months. For a second, Chris thought he might go through with it. It would have been easy to land a punch and duck back out of the way, letting the wolfsbane protect him from the repercussions. But, when he made to step forward, Chris noticed the way Peter’s eyes kept flickering back to the electric device Kate had left behind, his Adams apple bobbing minutely. Then Chris just felt ashamed.

“I have some restraint. It’s why I'm allowed to stand on this side of the line.”

Peter shrugged as if apologetic; his attention shifted back to Chris “I feel like its more fun on this side,” As Chris watched, Peter stepped back from the edge of the line. “How long are you going to be able to keep me here? Can I earn brownie points for special privileges?”

“I’ll bring you something to eat later.” Chris promised.

Peter only rolled his eyes. “If you wanted a kept man, Christopher, this isn't the accepted way to go about it.”

Chris tried to remind himself of what Peter was capable of, what fate Chris had helped him to avoid, but it was hard not to feel a little sick with himself when he left the room. His last view of Peter being the other man sat with his legs tucked underneath him on the floor, his fingers playing idly with his sleeves, and his eyes darting, untrusting, around the basement.

Chris wondered if he could smell Derek’s blood, or Boyd’s, Erica’s, or Stiles’ and then he decided he didn't want to know.

* * *

 

Lydia turned up around midday. She was holding a box of candles in one hand while her other was placed at an angle on her hip.

Chris accepted the box as it was thrust at his face.

“Happy house warming,” She greeted a little dryly, looking pointedly at the space behind Chris as she waited to be invited in. Suspecting that he wasn’t being given much choice, Chris stepped back to let her past.

“You are a year and a half late,” Chris said, eyeing the candles with confusion. “But thank you.”

“Yes well, it seemed tasteless to congratulate you on your new prisoner.”

“You’re not here to kill him, are you?” She had more reason to than most.

“I’m resisting the urge for now. I get the impression that this will be more amusing anyway.” Lydia navigated her way through the house to the kitchen, Chris watching her with a pang at the memories she evoked being back in the house. He doesn't think she’d visited since Allison died.

She was helping herself to a glass of water when she finally cut to the chase. “We still aren't entirely sure what activates my powers. Scott asked me to come take a look; I think he hopes that I’ll be able to tell if Peter is going to kill you.”

It wasn’t a comforting reminder of the danger he was in, housing a sometimes-rabid wolf.

“And?”

“And I’m not screaming. But,” she threw in a lofty shrug “it’s never worked when we wanted it to in the past, so that doesn't really mean anything.” She gave Chris a significant look, a warning, before inviting herself down to the basement.

It was without much eagerness that Chris followed behind.

Peter had somehow managed to fall asleep on the cold concrete floor. Lydia looked a little judgementally back at Chris as she took in the sight.

“I was going to bring him a mattress,” He couldn't help but defend himself, frowning a little. Peter hadn't actually been chained up to anything, but the way he was curled up obscured the chains from view a little and made it look like they could have been wrapped around his wrists.

Chris shifted uncomfortably.

Lydia sighed a little after she’d finished patrolling the room. “This isn't as satisfying as I’d envisioned.”

“Would you rather he was strung up?”

Chris wilted a little under Lydia’s glare.

“I meant this doesn't feel right. I know he’s a monster, I know that better than anyone, what he did to me-” she paused to shake her head, “and maybe the rules are different for werewolves but...” she hummed a little, not knowing how to finish her sentence.

Peter let out a little breath of air as he burrowed his face further into the arms he was pillowing himself with.

“Maybe I'm just thinking too much like a human.”

Chris’ frown tightened “Thinking like a human is how we've all lasted this long. The moment you stop, that’s when you start doing things like this for the fun of it and not because it’s necessary.” Chris doesn't mention his sister, but the way Lydia turns to look at the torture devices tells him that she knew what he was talking about anyway.

Lydia left soon after that, maybe the sympathy she was feeling for the man asleep on the floor was making her uncomfortable, and Chris was suddenly alone again with the wolf.

“Why were you pretending to sleep?”

Peter pulled himself up onto his knees, eyes open. “It’s tiring thinking of insults, and there are only so many times you can be knocked out with a chair before it starts to wear on your nerves.”

Chris huffed out a laugh, and was reassured to see a small smile tug at the corner of Peter’s mouth.

* * *

 

Chris did bring him a mattress like he said he would. Peter had scowled at the indignity of sleeping so close to the ground, no doubt he had a four poster bed back at his apartment, but when Chris had threatened to take it away again Peter had thumped all his weight onto it possessively.

The easy conversation fell away when Chris turned to inspect the wolfsbane line, making sure nothing had smudged in the exchange, and the tension returned with the reminder of what Peter was doing there.

“How long are you actually going to keep me here Argent? A week? A month? When do you get bored pretending to be a hero?” Peter was standing, one leg cocked out with his arms folded as he regarded Chris “What happens to me then? Death row isn't more merciful,” He reminded.

The truth was, Chris didn't know. He knew that he couldn't keep Peter there forever and they couldn't let him go. They couldn't put Scott or anyone else at risk like that.

Maybe that was all it was; death row.

“We’re giving you the chance. That’s all.”

Peter’s laugh was un-amused “The chance to what? Change? There’s nothing I could do to change your mind Argent, nothing I’d want to do. You look at me and see a monster, that’s fine. I've never pretended I was otherwise.”

“Derek-”

“Derek was sixteen years old when our family burnt alive. Sixteen year olds make a habit of seeing what they want, trusting the wrong people. Derek was no exception.”

But Chris doesn't believe him. Chris hadn't just taken Derek’s word for it at the clinic; he’d had to be persuaded with home videos and pictures, the cards Peter had given Derek, whatever was left after the fire. Briefly, Chris had seen a glimpse of someone that wasn't standing before him now.

“I'm just giving you the chance. Whether you take it or not is up to you,” Chris said finally.

* * *

 

Peter really was asleep when Chris came down the next morning. He’d abandoned the duvet Chris had given him at the base of the mattress, his natural heating obviously enough to combat the night’s chill. The plates Chris had brought him food on were left beside the mattress too, completely wiped clean despite Peter’s complaints about his cooking. He supposed there wouldn't have been much else to do but eat. He stooped down low to pick them up, thinking about doing the washing and whether or not he should bring Peter something to entertain himself with, when the sound of movement behind him made him pause.

He probably should have gotten himself out of the ring of wolfsbane before he lost himself to his thoughts because, very suddenly, he realised that Peter was not only awake but also standing close enough behind Chris to grab him if he had the inclination.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Peter drawled. “Were you here to just collect the dishes, or are you also here to slit my throat?”

Chris hand fell to the blade tucked into his belt. “I have somewhere to be.”

“Seems like everyone does these days except me,”

Keeping his hand braced on the knife, Chris turned to face Peter. “I was thinking I could bring you something to do, a book maybe?”

Peter’s chuckle was dry “Aren't you afraid I could give you a paper cut? Aren't there safer things you could have me doing?” Chris took a step back to match Peter’s step forward, and he wondered how many steps back it would take to get him out of harm’s way, and if he could make it that far without Peter reacting.

“Safer things?”

Peter shrugged casually “I could take you up on your offer,”

“I didn't make you an offer.” Another step back and another step forward.

He shrugged again “Not out loud. Or at least, not to my face.” His eyes flicked obviously to the ceiling above and the implication made heat rise to Chris’ face. “I’d thought you’d be tempted in a different way entirely, but I can’t say I blame you. It must be interesting, mustn't it? Having a wolf tied up in your basement, relying on your every whim for survival. How many times did you fantasise about that as a teenager? More than the amount of times you've been fantasising about it recently?” He’d been punctuating every question with another step forward, but Chris had stopped reacting to it. He’d forgotten that the walls didn't stop werewolf hearing. “I could be that wolf for you Christopher, if you let me. I’d be good at it too, be a good beta.” His voice was pitching lower now, lips inching closer to Chris’ ear until he could feel every expulsion of breath.

His mind was wiped blank of sense when Peter’s hand rested softly, a little possessively, on his hip. Fingers straying up slightly to brush against the skin Peter had exposed between his shirt and his waist band. And then he felt the edge of his knife bite against his leg as Peter steadily wrapped his fingers around its hilt with his other hand.

Gripping Peter’s forearm, Chris used Peter’s momentary surprise to give himself time to slip under it, wrenching his arm back up behind his back until Peter was forced to stand on the tips of his toes to take the strain off his arm. His strength should have been enough to force Chris back off and the way he was struggling suggested he knew it too, but he’d eaten all of the laced food and would, for now, find it difficult to push himself to his full potential.

“What happened to fighting me fairly?”

“My job isn't done yet.” Peter growled back, voice breaking a little in pain. “You've been a bit of a hindrance.”

Stepping neatly out of the circle, Chris finally released Peter’s arm. He was rubbing the joint sourly when Chris looked at him. “Can’t blame me for trying.” He groused.

Which was true.

“And what is your ‘job’?” Chris asked, not really expecting an answer but curious enough to ask anyway.

Peter looked for a moment like he wasn't going to say anything. He sat back down on the mattress, bouncing only slightly on its broken springs, and looked blankly at Chris. It was when Chris turned to leave that Peter said “I'm finding everyone who was involved. Every man who helped and every man who stayed silent. I'm finding them all.” What he was doing with them wasn't said, but with Peter’s track record it didn't take a lot of imagination.

There were a number of things Chris thought of saying, about moving on and letting go, but Victoria’s side of the closet remained full and Allison’s bedroom hadn't been touched.

“I'm doing it so Derek won’t have to. My sister would kill me if she knew I let them walk after what they did, but she’d kill me slower if I made it Derek’s responsibility. Better if I do it. But I wasn't strong enough-”

Peter broke off, frowning as if he’d said more than he’d intended to, but then he cast a look at where he was and his expression cleared. Evidently he decided that it was the least of his problems.

He scuffed a foot, irritated, at the nearest evidence of the powdered line and retreated his foot before it made contact. Chris was sure the faint whine was unintentional and that he wasn't supposed to hear it.

* * *

 

It was that afternoon when Chris added another line of wolfsbane at the base of the stairs, carefully marking out the area to make sure there was no way Peter could get past, before walking back to Peter and kicking aside the ring he was trapped in.

Peter quirked an eyebrow as he watched.

“Scored enough brownie points already? If I didn't know better, Christopher, I’d think you like me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was making notes last night and got a little carried away. I ended up upping the chapter numbers to 6, so sorry if anyone was hoping this would be the 'big conclusion'.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	5. When you look in the mirror, do you see your mistakes or mine?

It didn't take long before Chris had several wolfsbane circuits weaving throughout the house.

Because Chris was a tactician and found the situation easier to deal with when looked at like an objective mission, he had all of the circuits detailed on a floor plan.

It had started as a path to the bathroom. One of the things Chris hadn't considered until it became a very pressing problem. Peter had scowled when Chris shrugged and positively growled when Chris nudged a bucket his way.

 It took only a few days before Chris had enough of escorting the grouchy wolf. For one, he would very quickly run out of wolfsbane if he had to keep destroying and reforming the boundaries of Peter’s ring and, otherwise, he couldn't keep Peter subdued anymore. Chris had problems with it morally anyway and, when on the third day Peter fell so weak he couldn't so much as eat the drugged food, he had to call it quits.

Chris was strong but he wasn't sure he could manhandle a healthy werewolf from one room to another and so another plan had to be devised.

Keeping Peter trapped wandering between the basement and the bathroom also ended up proving redundant. As Chris had failed to anticipate, Peter had taken to sitting in the corridor between the stairs and the bathroom, antagonising Chris as he went about his day and unhelpfully tripping him whenever he got the chance.

Expanding the perimeter of the wolfsbane had been the compromise. Peter promised not to piss off Chris as long as Chris promised him free roam of the house. Or, as close to free roaming as Chris considered enough.

The floor plan was mostly highlighted in red, the area’s Peter was now allowed, only Chris’ room, his en-suite, and Allison’s room remained untouched.

It was unsettling how easily Peter had become a part of Chris’ routine. It didn't take long before it became reflexive to cook two eggs, to make two cups of coffee, and to set two places at the table.

 At least Peter’s migration to the guest bedroom made the whole situation feel less sketchy, at least for Chris. Until the next reminder of Peter’s house arrest came along, of course. You could only pretend for so long.

Unsurprisingly, Peter didn't receive many visits from the pack. They had come initially, but even then that was just to marvel at Peter’s incapacitation, smile mockingly at Peter’s pointless threats, and give Chris their sympathies. Scott had come most often. Chris was pretty certain Scott was trying to condition Peter to make him accustomed to the thought of Scott as his alpha. An optimistic preparation for a future that Chris still doubted would come to fruition.

It was also untimely when school started up again. It had meant Scott could no longer come to visit Peter and gave Peter another reminder of just how young the alpha was. Chris couldn't see him baring his neck for a kid, even if he could see him baring his neck for a man like Scott.

Derek hadn't visited at all. Stiles had said he felt guilty palming Peter off onto Chris, but Chris could tell from the way Scott wouldn't quite meet his eyes that it wasn't Chris Derek felt guilty over.

He'd imprisoned his uncle with the brother of the woman who’d ruined his life.

Even Chris could appreciate Derek’s moral dilemma, not that he’d been thinking about anything beyond his own grievances when he’d agreed.

He’d also overlooked the fact that lining his house with mountain ash both kept wolves in, and kept wolves out. No-one had come to test it yet, though.

There were a lot of things Chris had overlooked when he opened his home to Peter. The speed with which Peter would grow bored being one of them.

He’d seen Peter reading once, and that was the extent of his knowledge regarding Peter’s hobbies. With that thought, Chris had nudged Peter towards the library he’d amassed that was available from the bookshelf in the living room. Chris had more books in his office, but Chris had decided that Peter might take offence to the factual recounts of werewolf hunters.  

It had even worked for a little while, even if Peter was more often glaring at Chris from over the top of a book than actually reading it.

He should have known better really.

He hadn't been hanging around the house as often as he had when Peter first arrived. He’d naturally been nervous of leaving the volatile man alone for any length of time, and he’d been managing his work schedule accordingly.

That did mean that by the end of the month, he had several appointments he could no longer put off.

He hadn't known what to expect when he got back home after a seven hour trip out of town. A part of him expected an empty lot where his house once stood. He may have preferred that.

Peter was sat cross legged, faux innocently, frowning down at a box that sat open at his feet. Chris almost over looked the scene entirely, his heart still thumping erratically at the fear that Peter had gotten out.

He hadn't realised he hadn't reason to be any less than relieved. Peter could hear him coming, so if he was doing something suspect, he would have stopped before Chris even got in the house.

But he carried on regardless, even as Chris faltered to a stop, recognising the box Peter was buried in.

“What are you doing?” Chris kept his voice dangerously even.

Peter didn't even look up. Chris’s anger flared further. “Your daughter was a fair artist.” He said airily, examining the drawing he held in his hand as if he had any right to be looking at it.

Chris had taken to strategically hiding wolfsbane infused handcuffs on his person. He would on a hunt anyway, but since his house had become the battleground, he was constantly vigilant. He didn't think twice before seizing Peter from behind, twisting his arms into the cuffs, and chaining him to the empty fireplace.

Peter’s eyes flashed at the unexpected attack, but he was obviously making a concerted effort to hold back the shift. It was only when he was secured to the fireplace that he began to throw his full weight into struggling.

He stopped almost instantly with a hiss of pain. The cuffs wouldn't be acidic enough to hurt unless he pulled against them too much, causing them to bite into his skin, or if he left them on too long. Chris was smart, but not cruel.

That didn't stop him wishing there was a more painful kick in the chains at that moment.

Visibly startled, Peter was looking at Chris with an expression akin to confusion as Chris slammed him back against the wall.

“Don’t you dare touch that,” It was bad enough that Peter had begun to fill in Allison’s roles. That he’d been sitting at the only other chair in the kitchen, the one that Allison had insisted moving in there so they could sit communally at breakfast after Victoria had died, bad enough that Chris had taken to giving Peter Allison’s cups some mornings, or that Peter was sleeping beneath the duvet that Allison had picked out. Bad enough that he was housing the very thing that led Chris’ family to this, the very man who’d triggered the sequence of events that took Allison’s future, forced her to take her last breath. “Don’t you dare.”

For a long second Chris thought Peter was going to do something monumentally stupid, like roll his eyes. He didn't though. He looked down at the still open box once, and then back at Chris’ face. He looked almost resigned when Chris drove his first fist into the side of his face.

Chris didn't know how long he had Peter pressed back against that wall, the time passing marked by Peter’s grunts and growls, the creaking of straining metal waxing and waning in tandem with Peter’s whines of pain. It was only when he’d stopped, his shoulder aching from the amount of force he’d been pumping into each punch, that Chris realised his face was stained with tears. Peter’s was too. It dripped down between the bruises that had flared up on his face, a violent purple that wasn't fading even with his superior healing.

Heavy breathing filled the room, until Chris finally released his choke-hold on Peter’s collar and let him fall to the floor.

He slumped to the ground too, unable to even look at Peter because of the horrified shame flooding his chest.

Eventually he stumbled back to his feet, away from Peter, but when he turned he saw something on the sill above the fireplace that caught his attention.

“What were you doing?” With another flare of shame, Chris saw Peter flinch away at the base of the fireplace, his legs and shoulders hunching up as if to protect himself from more attacks. He’d never seen Peter looking scared before. “I'm not going to hit you again.” He tried to sound reassuring, but he knew he had missed the mark by the way Peter was eyeing him warily.

“I-it was a family tradition. You’re supposed to keep the candles lit for as long as it takes them to reach-wherever it is their going. Next incarnation, afterlife, wherever.” The framed pictures of Allison and Victoria that Chris had tucked inside the box had been centred on the sill, the candles Lydia had bought placed intermittently around them. He looked back down at Peter who had edged as far away as his cuffs permitted. “I couldn't do it when I woke up from the coma. I don’t think I had any pictures of them left anyway, and if they were going anywhere, they would have reached it by then. I tried to, with the candles-at the time. Put it by their graves but-” he broke off with a low sigh.

“But?” Chris prompted.

Peter just nudged his head towards the match box that lay opened; several unused matchsticks were discarded on the carpet, some broken as if they had been held too hard in a very tight grip.

Peter shuffled away even further when Chris stooped low to pick them up. The candles took to the flame easily, the light flickering in the breeze from an open window somewhere in the house. The pictures had been taken with the camera flash on, washing out their skin until they looked almost ghostly pale, but the slight orange hue from the flame seemed to restore the colour to their skin. Like it was bringing them back to life. Chris stared at it for a while, watching the flames dance, before he remembered the wolf settled uneasily on the floor.

He slid down to rest beside him against the wall.

Chris had almost forgotten that Peter had lost his family too. Chris turned to look at Peter, wanting to apologise, or at least begin to apologise, but Peter beat him to it. As if he had anything to apologise for.

“I didn't let Derek into our vault for months after I came back. Couldn't actually stop him of course, but I kept trying to deter him. For a little while I considered just emptying the damn thing. I thought I could take the whole lot with me. It’s hard. You get so caught up in the memory of things, what it means to you, that it ends up becoming a part of you. Then you don’t want anyone else to see it. Because then it’s yours. Your memory and your pain. I just-” He sounded frustrated, letting his head fall to rest against the wall with a dull ‘thunk’ “I should have known better.” He admitted turning to face Chris finally, the side of his face still a bright purple, “I'm sorry.”

Chris thinks he meant to say something then. He meant to tell him that it wasn't his fault that Chris was the one who should be sorry, and maybe he even tried to say thank you for understanding. Instead, he leant forward and pressed his lips to Peter.

After a heartbeat, Peter whined. Figuring he was probably putting too much pressure on his bruise, and that he really shouldn't be kissing Peter, Chris pulled away. But when he did Peter whined again, pulling tensely at his bindings to try and get to Chris. For a second Chris thought Peter was trying to attack him, it wouldn't have been unwarranted, but his manner was too docile, his eyes a little glazed, and so Chris leaned forward again.

That time there was no mistaking the whine for anything other than a sound of pleasure.

It was simultaneously the weirdest feeling Chris had ever experienced and the most natural and, maybe there was something to be said about the fact that he hadn't really kissed anyone since Victoria passed away, but he barely recognised the fluttering of anticipation in the pit of his stomach.

It was when Chris brought his hand up to clutch at the back of Peter’s head that he remembered Peter was still tied up, unable to do anything but let Chris take the lead.

That was a heady feeling.

Pushing himself away from the wall so that he was knelt in front of the wolf, lips still connected in ferocious kiss, Chris tugged Peter up onto his lap with two hands braced beneath his thighs. The chains were creaking again as Peter struggled to get his hands free. Wanting to touch and grab.

Laughing a little giddily Chris hoisted Peter up into the air, forcing his legs to wrap around his waist, effectively unhooking the cuffs from the fireplace. Casting a very quick glance around the room and huffing at the unsatisfactory furniture, Chris manoeuvred them both out the room. Peter didn't even seem to notice, far more preoccupied with nibbling distractingly at Chris’ earlobe while he tried to carry them somewhere more comfortable.

Stumbling into his bedroom backwards, taking care to kick out the line of wolfsbane with his heel, Chris sat himself at the end of the bed with Peter still firmly locked on his lap. The momentum caused Peter to involuntarily roll his hips forward, and they broke away from each other long enough to let out surprised moans.

Any thoughts of propriety were lost in that moan.

Gripping Peter’s hips with far too much force, Chris forced him to roll forward again.

“Undo the-” Peter huffed out, breaking off into a moan.

Despite his natural inclination to ignore an order from Peter, Chris fumbled with the key he had attached to his belt, laughing a little as Peter began to press frantic kissed along his jaw and back towards his ear.

“What is it with you and ears,” Chris couldn't help but laugh, even as he let his head loll back to give Peter better access.

Clumsily reaching behind Peter to unlock the cuffs, Peter let them fall to the ground behind him.

If he thought Peter would use that chance to take charge, Chris was wrong. He was quite content to let Chris dictate his bodies movement; only using his hands to grasp the back of Chris’ head and stroke his fingers along the nape of his neck.

When Peter’s hips stuttered to a halt, his whole body stiffening as he ceased to be yielding to Chris’ movements, Chris pressed up into Peter instead. Their foreheads were rested together as they found their release.

Slumping back onto his bed suddenly exhausted, Chris was surprised to find Peter following him. He curled up at his side, head pillowed on Chris’ chest, and a small smile on his face that made Peter look younger than Chris had ever see him. A smile that Chris recognised from something Derek had shown him.

He knew that in the morning things would need to be discussed, but Peter was so pliant in his arms, he didn't want to break the spell that had fallen across the room.

* * *

 

Chris woke up not much later to the feeling of cold air and a sound of distress. Blinking away the sleep as he sat up, Chris realised that it was Peter, and not a shadow, that was stood at the window.

A window that had been pushed up to reveal an unbroken line of wolfsbane.

A very cold feeling shifted in Chris’ chest.

Peter went silently back to the basement, not complaining even as Chris righted the ring that hadn't been whole since his first nights in the house.

When Chris was sat in his car, head thumped down against the steering wheel, he still wasn't sure who had been taken advantage of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unsurprisingly, I had the most fun writing this one. If there are any mistakes, grammar or spelling wise, it was probably because I was enjoying myself too much to care about the finer points of English.
> 
> If you are still reading, I very much appreciate it ^__^


	6. I almost left you behind

The head of Chris’ neighbour nudged out from between parted curtains. Chris smiled pleasantly until she’d disappeared back into her house.

Cursing himself, he slid back into his car; taking care to close the door softer than he had done the last four times.

He’d been in and out of his car constantly over the last ten minutes.

Objectively, he knew that he couldn't sit out in his car all night. Even with that knowledge, it was tempting.

His mind kept flickering back and forth between blaming Peter and blaming himself, but it all served to further twist the anger brewing in his stomach until he could no longer trust what he would do if he was back in the house.

He was uncertain about a lot of things now, in a way he never had been before he returned to Beacon Hills.

He _was_ certain that the experiment had run its course.

Whether it was his fault or Peter’s, he couldn't play along anymore. It was breaking apart the few strings that had been holding Chris together, and he couldn't take the strain.

It was something that could have, and probably should have, waited until the morning but Chris was firing up the engine of his car and pulling out of the driveway before he could talk himself out of it. Maybe he’d be able to sleep then.

The thought of disturbing Melissa McCall’s evening was far from Chris’ mind, though it was really Scott he needed to see, and so Chris drove the familiar route to Derek’s loft.

Chris might have preferred a longer drive, but it didn't feel like very long before he was throwing his truck into park.

It was only when Derek was opening the door to his loft that Chris realised he wasn't sure how to put it. He couldn't tell Derek what had happened to trigger the late night call; couldn't face the shame and certainly couldn't stand for Derek to think any less of him. It was bad enough that he’d abused his position of power; let Peter give him what he wanted just for the chance to get out. He couldn't stand it if the vulnerable partnership that had been steadily rising out of the ruins of Chris’ past were to break along with everything else.

It was also hard to think of what to say when he was too busy recognising something of Peter in Derek’s tussled hair and irritated expression.

Braeden, dressed in what was obviously Derek’s clothes, was regarding Chris with an arched eyebrow and folded arms. In her hand was a revolver.

“Chris? What are you doing here?” He was obviously making an effort not to let his irritation colour his voice “You've missed Scott by half an hour...”

“Scott was here?” Chris caught himself before he asked what Scott was doing out at this time of night, mentally noting the irrelevance.

“With Stiles. They said they were going to see you?”

“Something happened.” Braeden said it so matter-of-factly that Chris couldn't help but shift uneasily. He knew she didn't actually know, but she had this perpetual look that said she knew a little bit more than you did.

Derek was looking at Chris with confusion, mouth opening as if he was going to ask, when Chris’ phone rumbled in his pocket.

“It’s Scott.” Chris clarified, the caller ID telling him as much. Derek left the door open as Chris pulled the phone to his ear; even if Chris would have slammed the door ages ago if their positions had been reversed. “Scott?”

“Chris?” Scott’s voice came though, “Why is there wolfsbane around your house?”

“Peter-” Chris began to explain, but either Scott wasn't listening or Chris' voice wasn't getting through.

“Are you even in? The front doors unlocked, Stiles has-” He stopped abruptly, and through the tinny speakers Chris could hear Scott scenting the air. For a minute or so, that’s all the sound there was. “Are you in? I can-Stiles. _Stiles_. Get out of there-”

The phone was jostled on the other end, the sound of it rustling against material and then dropping to the floor reaching Chris before the sound cut off entirely. The call had disconnected.

Chris looked up at Derek, wide eyed. “Peter.”

Derek’s growl was deep and animalistic, the sound of it reverberating throughout the loft. He was pulling on clothes before Chris even had time to react. “My cars faster.” He told Chris, hurriedly retrieving the keys from their bowl.

“Derek, what are we going to do when we get him?”

“This time, we’re putting him down.”

It was Braeden who nodded, tucking the gun she’d been holding into a holster she’d retrieved from no-where.

Chris caught the gun she threw through the air towards him.

“If you need it. Obviously it has wolfsbane bullets.”

It had a foreign feeling to it, a weight that wasn't exactly like Chris’ own, but it could put a bullet through a head just as well.

* * *

 

The drive back to Chris’ felt longer this time, even in Derek’s faster car.

The atmosphere was tense, heated, and enough to pull Chris out of his emotional rut and back into his hunting head space. Derek was muttering darkly, his lip curled back in a vicious snarl as he spat out insults and his regrets to the two other occupants, though neither were really listening.

Braeden was readying her attack plan. She was shifting the weapons she had with her about her person like she was trying to calculate the most convenient ways to access them mid fight.

Chris was also preoccupied; he was chasing the images of Peter out of his mind with thoughts of Stiles, defenceless and suffering at the hands of a mad man.

What had seemed so shameful before now gave Chris a dull sense of satisfaction. Chris was glad he’d managed to get a good few punches in. When they saved Stiles and put a gun to Peter’s head, maybe the thought would make Stiles feel better.

It was when they were a few streets away that they began to hear the sirens of the emergency surfaces. Grotesque thoughts of Stile’s mangled body flashed in front of Chris’ eyes, unbidden. Something foul was resting on the tip of Chris’ tongue, waiting to be admitted out loud, but Derek got there first.

“He didn't even want to keep Peter alive. He knew what would happen and we ignored him.” The leather of the steering wheel was tearing under Derek’s tight grip.

They’d have to tell the sheriff. Chris would have to tell him. And it was Chris’ fault. His body was numbed with guilt, the grip he had on his gun falling a little slacker. It was Braeden’s sharp look in the front mirror that brought Chris back to his senses. They had a job, now. There would be time for everything else later.

When they pulled onto Chris' road, he scanned across the scene in front of his house with dread. Several trucks were pulled up on the lawn, their wheels dragging up great clumps of turf. Not that Chris cared about any of that now. He could see Scott amongst them and, with an almighty surge of relief, Chris could see he was gripping Stiles tightly, like he was holding him back from something.

It was Derek who finally drew his attention towards his house.

Smoke was rising up from the roof; a tower of grey that merged into the skies, blanketing the slates and obscuring the chimney from view entirely.

Everything was aflame.

Stumbling out of his car, leaving Derek frozen in his seat, Chris rushed across to Scott.

“Chris,” Scott exclaimed upon seeing him, “Chris they know you’re not inside. They know. They’re containing it, but they’re not going in. The wolfsbane, I tried but I can’t-” there was something frantic in his voice, and Chris could only frown at him in confusion before he realised what he meant.

Peter. They didn't know Peter was inside, trapped underground by a line of wolfsbane.

He didn't have time to think. “Don’t let them go in after me,” Chris told Scott forcefully, before taking off at a sprint. He tied his jacket around his face as he went, shrugging it off with difficulty as he pushed through groups of fire-fighters.

He ignored their shouts until he could no longer hear them: their voices muffled by the smoke surrounding him.

The fire was mostly in the living room on this floor, a candle was upturned upon the carpet, but it was spreading quickly through the kitchen. The stairs that led down to the basement were barely touched and Chris didn’t have any time to feel relieved before he surged towards them. He almost fell down the stairs completely in his haste; falling to his hands and knees when he reached the bottom step.

The smoke was still prominent down here, the whole house was thick with it probably because of the way the house was ventilated, even if there were no flames.

If Chris had been expecting to find a frantic Peter, he was mistaken. Instead, Peter was sat cross legged in the centre of the circle. Through the haze, Chris could see that his arms were crossed neatly and his head was thrown back. He looked as if he was waiting for something. Chris wondered if he knew he’d come back for him.

Peter didn't even react when Chris scrambled towards him, pushing himself of the ground with enough force to pitch him towards the circle. The powder was pushed away under Chris’ palms, blackening the skin. When Chris grabbed at Peter, his eyes snapped open.

“Christopher?” He sounded so vacant; Chris wondered how much of the smoke he’d inhaled.

Peter’s legs buckled under him when Chris pulled him to his feet, and he would have fallen to the floor again if Chris didn't immediately wrap his arms around his waist. “Peter, you've got to work with me here. I'm going to get you out.” He pulled down the jacket, shouting louder than was strictly necessary, but the fear pounding through his body made him care less about trivial things like that. He shook Peter when he didn't respond.

Suddenly Peter snapped his head towards Chris, eyes widening in realisation. “Argent, you've got to get out of here.”

“I know.” Chris was starting to cough, and the heat brushing the back of his neck was another reminder of how little time they had. “I know. I'm getting you out too.”

With some effort, he forced Peter’s arm around his neck and tugged him along as he moved too slowly out of the basement. When they emerged, Chris noticed with a tight sick feeling that the fire had spread rapidly in his absence. The corridor that led to the front door was aflame. It had taken to the wallpaper, licking threateningly out above the wooden floorboard that would, at any minute, spark with life.

“The backdoor,” Chris chocked out, hoping that Peter would have enough wits to get them there if Chris couldn't. But Peter was squirming out from Chris’ grip. “Peter-?”

There was something mad flickering in Peter’s eyes when he turned to look at Chris “You've got to go Argent.”

Chris was feeling light headed “Go? I know. We are.”

Peter was shaking his head, trying to force off the hand Chris was clutching his shoulder with. Chris couldn't let go. If he did, he wasn't sure he could stand up. “No, you’ve got to go. I’m supposed to- I have to stay-” Somewhere a floor up, something crashed to the floor. The sound rang through Chris’ ears, and he wobbled slightly.

“Peter? Peter, what are you talking about, we’ve got to go-”

Peter was gripping Chris now, his fingers painful where they dug into his flesh. “I’m not supposed to be here Chris.”

Chris was beginning to feel lost. The heat was burning. “You’re here because of me-”

“Not your house Christopher. I’m not supposed to be here.” He finally managed to worm out of Chris’ grip and Chris immediately slumped back. The stair railing that was already struggling under the heat whined pitifully.

Though his vision was blurring, Chris could see Peter’s silhouette as he slowly began to walk backwards. The fire threw the lines of his body into relief, surrounding him in light until he looked almost ethereal. For a second, Chris almost believed what Peter was saying.

“I was supposed to be there. It was supposed to be me. I think this was how it was always going to end for me.” He was stretching a hand out to the fire, an almost blissful look on his face. “You need to get out Argent.”

Then he was gripping Peter around the middle, yanking him backwards as the flame jumped forwards. Peter frantically wrested with him, but Chris was determined to be stronger. It was difficult to keep moving while he was fighting against Peter, but Chris kept planting one foot after another, tugging Peter backwards towards the backdoor.

Distantly, he knew Peter was shouting something but it wasn’t until they hit fresh air that Chris realised what it was.

Peter was pleading with him.

“Chris, please. Let me go. Chris. I need to. Let me go, let me go, let me-” He was still struggling against Chris’ grip and Chris was beginning to lose it. He kept holding on even as Peter began to shake, sobs racking through his body so ferociously that Chris couldn’t help the way he tugged Peter into his arms properly, one hand gripping at his hair as the other secured itself around his waist. “Please let me go.”

Chris fought through his own exhaustion for as long as he could. Until he sensed the presence of others around him, until Derek knelt down at his side.

When he finally passed out, it was to the sight of Peter clinging to Derek. It looked natural, even if the last touch they’d knowingly shared was Derek’s claws to Peter’s neck. “Talia-” Peter was sobbing “Talia I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I’m so tired, Talia-”

* * *

 

When Chris was first discharged from the hospital, he’d come straight to Deaton’s where he knew Peter would be.

He had so many questions he needed to ask. They were prickling away on his mind and kept dancing along his tongue before he reined them in. He would need them to be answered in time, but for now Peter was still recovering.

Peter was more subdued than Chris remembered him ever being before, and though the lack of smarminess and sarcasm was jarring, the occasional jibe Peter sent his way was a promise that it wouldn't take long before Peter was back to normal. He still hadn't looked Derek in the eyes.

Mostly he was just embarrassed, though Chris said he had no reason to be.

Some form of survivors guilt had been triggered by the fire. Chris was no stranger to it; hunters saw their fair share of trauma, and he’d seen friends destroyed by it.

It was hard to reassure Peter that he understood. He’d just flush an angry red and then ignore him until Chris stopped talking about it. Maybe he felt guilty for almost getting Chris killed too, or at least Chris got that impression by the way Peter would look at him.

It was Lydia who ultimately broke through to Peter, demanding that he acknowledged what had happened. “If you think this is the best way to handle it, you’re an idiot.” Lydia’s sympathies only extended so far. “I'm bored of tiptoeing around the land mines you've laid out in your head. I'm shocked that you haven’t already used this to manipulate your way into the pack; I can barely recognise you. If you paid attention you’d realise that no-one thinks you’re any weaker for what happened. They certainly don’t think less of you. For one, I don’t think that’s even possible, and two, it isn't weak to have emotions.”

The tirade had continued for a long time after that, but the growl that had been rumbling through Peter’s throat since she’d started talking died down. Chris wondered if it had something to do with the finger he was stroking along the back of Peter’s neck.

Lydia’s lecture concluded abruptly when she broke off with a “for the love of- you could’ve at least waited until I left the room.”

Peter had twisted around at his waist, turning so he could face Chris fully. With a slight smile as warning, Peter had leant forward and claimed Chris’ lips with his own. When he pulled back the small noise of surprise Chris had made was covered by Peter’s pleased rumble.

It would be much later, when Peter was tucked back against Chris and Chris was pressing light kisses along his throat, that Chris would wonder why no-one seemed surprised.

 

* * *

 

_Some months ago_

“In pack culture, the hierarchy is not just about titles. Some are born to be alphas and some are born to be betas. No-one is born to be an omega. You wouldn’t have experienced what life is truly like as an omega. Alpha’s can handle that way of life better, and even without a pack you were made like an alpha. Betas can’t, and some are worse off than others. There’s a reason packs are stronger where omegas are vulnerable, and it has nothing to do with physical strength. That kind of isolation eats away at a beta. It upsets their balance. Talia was the alpha of the Hale pack, and Laura was to be her successor. Peter was never supposed to be anything more than a beta, but he’s been an omega for an awfully long time. I’ve long suspected its part of the reason he is so unmanageable. I thought if Peter were to have an alpha again, he could find that balance. I owe Talia more than to not give Peter the chance. But he didn’t take to Derek or to you. I thought that was it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“An alpha is more than just a title, Scott. It’s a manner of being; it is the strength to do what is right by your pack; to do what is not easy. It is their job to make sacrifices, even to punish where necessary. Not all alphas are wolves, Scott, and not all Argents are born to be hunters alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a gross lack of understanding about fires. 
> 
> I've really enjoyed writing this and would have probably ended up writing it just for the fun of it even if no-one was reading, but the fact that people have been makes me endlessly happy.
> 
> So thank you ^__^


End file.
